Last week I had a dream that Bela failed 2nd grade. Her teacher hated her. She complained that when Bela would write sentences they were completely illogical. That she couldn't do any math. That she wouldn't listen.
We fretted over the emotional transition facing Bela (and Mae), going from a Waldorf model of education to the public school version. But the academic transition has proved to be harder, by a bit.
Our dreams have some foundation in reality, after all, right? My own insecurities whisper to me that Bela's teacher might not like her very much. My own observations had me realizing that Bela's homework is not always clearly recorded in her agenda, and that she had no real sense of what was going on in the classroom (aside from the social aspect).
My doubts were confirmed mid week. Bela brought home some math homework and some other papers. "This one has all these red Xs and I don't know why" she reported, casually.
It was her math test. D+.
My knee jerk reaction was, as always, the wrong one.
"Bela! This is a BAD grade!" Blank stare from Bela. She doesn't even know what a test is, let alone a grade.
"Bela! If you get grades like this all year you won't make it to third grade!"
Once I finished shaming her and worrying her unnecessarily, I calmed down. And then I began to blame myself. Bela got a bad grade because I had failed her.
Bela's reaction? Confusion, realization, frustration, tears. "I don't understand her teacher words!"
I constantly have to remind myself that Bela is not me. I am not her. Does anyone else get fooled into thinking that our children's lives are just mere extensions of our own? Why do I feel anxious about who likes her and who doesn't? Why do I feel inadequate when she gets a bad grade on her math test? Why do I only make them put on shoes to play outside when other parents are watching - letting them go barefoot when I assume we're all alone?
Because I believe I am being judged by how likeable, smart, and well-behaved my kids are. Because I secretly judge others by the same standards. But that's me. Absurdly self-aware but with a shameful lack of self-control.
I read somewhere we should consider ourselves, as parents, to be responsible to our kids instead of responsible for. What an easy line to read and a hard philosophy to live by, no?
Here are the promises I make to myself every day, even though every day they are as hard to uphold as they were the day before, and I hardly ever do a very good job at them:
I will try to be more present and more honest in my parenting.
I will teach my children good manners but I won't crumble to pieces when they forget them all in front of other parents.
I will sit down with them every night and practice counting money, practice reading instructions, practice spelling words and filingl out science worksheets. I will answer their questions, encourage them to do their best. And then I will send them to school and not freak out if the results are not perfect.
Maybe if I do all this, I'll sleep a little better at night.
Yesterday, Bela came home all smiles. She got an A+ on her spelling test.
lovely, daughter
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